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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488852">Sed Me Domum et Aedificabo a Throno</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytale_bliss/pseuds/herewestandinfireandblood'>herewestandinfireandblood (fairytale_bliss)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Amor Vincit Omnia [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant S01E01-S08E02, F/M, Fluff, Jorah Mormont Lives, Minor Dany/Daario, Minor Dany/Drogo, Minor Dany/Jon, Pre-Relationship, S8 AU, Slow Burn, Unacknowledged Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:28:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytale_bliss/pseuds/herewestandinfireandblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[Showverse] Jorah Mormont had been there at the start of Daenerys Targaryen’s new journey. He’d be by her side until its end.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jorah Mormont &amp; Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Amor Vincit Omnia [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>136</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prelude--Season One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy New Year to everyone!</p><p>A few notes:</p><p>1. Ficlets of 350 words or less.<br/>2. Prompt words to present an extra challenge.<br/>3. Aiming to update every Tuesday and Friday depending on how far ahead I manage to stay ahead, so this could change.<br/>4. Ficlet for every episode plus S09 and S10 to continue the AU.<br/>5. Slowburn but eventual Jorlessi payoff (plus interludes between each season).<br/>6. English to Latin translator used for the title so probably not completely accurate, LOL! (Mumford &amp; Sons lyrics, ofc.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Daenerys thinks back to where it all started, it’s hard to believe the journey she’s undertaken. Once a cowering girl, now a fearless queen.</p>
<p>Once all alone, now with friends and counsellors all around her.</p>
<p>Once sold like a slave, now free to love as she pleases.</p>
<p>In the grey light of dawn, almost a decade into her reign, Daenerys lies in bed beside her husband, watching him sleep.</p>
<p>It’s something she so rarely gets to do. Jorah is nearly always awake before she is. Sometimes he is up at the hour of the nightingale, clad in his regal queensguard armour, Dragonsong strapped to his side. If she is lucky she can convince him to stay abed with her a little while longer, at least until her handmaids disturb their peace. Usually, she is <em>very </em>good at keeping Jorah Mormont in bed with her. A flash of pale skin, a sultry look beneath her lashes…</p>
<p>She feathers her fingers over his cheekbone, and he stirs at her touch, blinking open sleepy eyes.</p>
<p>She withdraws at once. “I’m sorry for waking you.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be.” His voice is hoarse and scratchy, and she presses a kiss to his cheek, snuggling closer. “Morning.”</p>
<p>“Morning.”</p>
<p>“You’re up early.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Is something bothering you?”</p>
<p>“No. I was just thinking.”</p>
<p>“About what?”</p>
<p>Daenerys moves to kiss him again. “About where we started out.”</p>
<p>Jorah’s arm slides around her middle, holding her against him as she uses his chest to lever up on her forearms. “Oh?”</p>
<p>“It was just a fanciful thought, really. Thinking back to then. And how glad I am to be where we are now.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad too,” says Jorah, grazing the backs of his fingers under her chin. “Very, <em>very </em>glad.”</p>
<p>More than words can say. Her greatest strength, closest confidante, most loyal lover. Even at the very beginning she had needed him more than she had ever needed anybody, looking to him for comfort and guidance. Back then she had treasured his friendship.</p>
<p>And now…</p>
<p>She leans down to kiss him once more, free to love as she pleases indeed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 01x01, 'Winter is Coming'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Threat.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything about the day intimidates her. The pounding of the drums, like war tunes. The strange tongue spoken all around her, completely foreign to her ear, harsh and guttural. Decidedly unfriendly. The fierce Dothraki warriors with the jet braids which dangle down their backs in varying lengths, none longer than Khal Drogo's, which brushes the dirt as he sits. The bright splashes of blood and the entrails that sway like slithering serpents.</p><p>Viserys himself.</p><p>"Make him happy," her brother says to her, his mouth twisting, snake-like, around the sharp points of his teeth. He pinches her leg. Tomorrow she will have a bruise.</p><p>Her nails dig into the palms of her hands. She doesn't respond. There's no point. She doesn't want to wake the dragon.</p><p>Now she has the added fear of angering her fierce horselord husband, who swings himself onto his horse and shakes the reins. He takes off without a backward glance.</p><p>She is a dog called to heel, following.</p><p>But she <em>can't </em>stop herself from one last look back at the old life slipping away.</p><p>Her gaze finds Ser Jorah's, the only person in this awful new environment who might try to be kind to her. He gives her a nod. Encouragement. Strength.</p><p>She won't remember that later, when she cries herself to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 01x02, 'The Kingsroad'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Empire.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s all her brother ever talks about. The dynasty. The legacy. The family name. Aegon the Conqueror, their father who was betrayed by the vilest creatures of Westeros. How the Iron Throne is his by rights and how Khal Drogo’s army will become <em>his </em>army as he avenges their brother for what the Usurper did at the Trident.</p><p>“What will we do when we return home?” she wonders aloud to Ser Jorah as they trek through the endless Dothraki Sea. “What will happen to me?” It’s one of the many thoughts that haunt her at night.</p><p>Ser Jorah mulls it over for a moment, then decides on the truth: “I don’t know, Khaleesi. Perhaps you will remain in Westeros. Perhaps Khal Drogo will want to return to Essos.”</p><p>Dany lowers her voice. “Will…will Viserys want to marry me? I know Targaryens have wed brother to sister for centuries.”</p><p>“You have a husband.”</p><p>“What if Viserys kills him?”</p><p>Ser Jorah chuckles, which she should find offensive. “Do you truly believe that Viserys could kill Khal Drogo?”</p><p>“No,” she concedes, but frets, “but what if…?” She doesn’t think he <em>will.</em> Viserys is too proud to want her now she’s no longer a maiden; he won’t want Drogo’s spoiled goods. But Viserys is also unpredictable, and it’s impossible to know what he will do.</p><p>“Mayhaps he’ll marry a Martell or a Tyrell,” says Ser Jorah. “Your brother Rhaegar married a Martell. The Tyrells remained loyal to the crown. They will give him sons and heirs. And you will be free, Khaleesi.”</p><p>But she shakes her head. Ser Jorah doesn’t understand. Viserys’ influence stretches far and wide, yanking her back to him by the throat. Squeezing the life and happiness out of her. He will never allow her to be free or happy in the world he builds.</p><p>“No I won’t,” she says. “I’ll never be free of him.”</p><p>Nor will she be free of Drogo, who still frightens her so.</p><p>Forever a prisoner between two men who are intent on conquering the world. Who have already conquered her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 01x03, 'Lord Snow'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Falter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He sees the boys about butchering a goat for Daenerys’ supper before he saddles his horse.</p><p>He’s busy ensuring that he has enough provisions to last him on his journey to Qohor when he hears a soft voice behind him.</p><p>His blood runs cold.</p><p><em>Her </em>voice.</p><p>“Khaleesi, what are you doing out here?” he says evenly, tightening the bridle.</p><p>“I needed some air,” she confesses. “I feel a little sick.”</p><p>“Sip some water,” he advises her.</p><p>Daenerys remains silent, watching him work. He tries to ignore her presence, all too aware of the weight of his betrayal.</p><p>“Irri says you’re leaving.” Her voice is small. A child’s.</p><p>He doesn’t look at her. “Aye.”</p><p>“Please don’t go.”</p><p>That plaintive note almost breaks him. If he turns, it will. His fingers falter over the sack as he attaches his provisions.</p><p>He doesn’t turn.</p><p>“I must, Khaleesi. A few days is all.”</p><p>“You’re my only friend.”</p><p>“That’s not true. You have your handmaidens.”</p><p>“But they don’t understand me. No one does, only you.”</p><p>Guilt stabs low at his gut, worse than any blade he’s taken before.</p><p><em>Home</em>, he tells himself. <em>If you do this, you can go home. It’s only information. They’ve not asked you to slit her throat.</em></p><p>He swings himself onto his mount and takes hold of the reins.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Princess,” he says. “Go and get your supper. Get some rest. You’ve got to take care of yourself now that you’re with child. I will return to you soon. You can tell me about what I’ve missed with the horde and I’ll tell you any tales I have.”</p><p>The idea of news outside the Dothraki brightens Daenerys enough to nod. He wheels his horse around, mapping his path through the crackling fires that burn outside so many of the tents.</p><p>“Stay safe,” Daenerys says.</p><p>“You too, Khaleesi,” he returns, the words ash in his mouth with the dishonour of what he’s about to do. His betrayal.</p><p>He hesitates for a moment more before digging his heels into the horse’s side, departing at a canter, leaving Daenerys behind in the dust.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 01x04, 'Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Compliment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Home.</em>
</p><p>The word echoes between them, a hope, a dream, a one-word oath which will bind them together for the rest of time though right now, with the whole future sprawling and unknown in front of her, Daenerys has no idea.</p><p>“If not for Viserys, how <em>will </em>we get home?” she asks. It’s a question she knows Ser Jorah can’t have the answer to, but it’s one she asks nevertheless, for in the short time she has known him, she has started to look to him for reassurance and comfort at every turn.</p><p>“I don’t know, Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah admits honestly. “Mayhaps Viserys <em>will </em>get Khal Drogo’s army across the Narrow Sea. Mayhaps he <em>will </em>take his throne back from the Usurper. Or perhaps someone else will lead us.”</p><p>“Who?” she persists. There is no one else. Her brother, whilst almost intolerable, is the rightful king.</p><p>Ser Jorah’s lip curls just slightly. “Viserys has a sister, does he not?”</p><p>When his words register, she frowns at him. “Now you’re japing.”</p><p>“I am not,” he says. “You are the opposite of your brother. The Dothraki like you. You’ve grown to command respect. I’d wager that you’d make a much better queen than Viserys would king.”</p><p>“He’ll have your head if he hears you,” she hisses, peering round him to ensure there’s no one eavesdropping at the mouth of the tent.</p><p>“Aye, likely he will,” Ser Jorah allows, but he doesn’t sound concerned. He gives a bow now. “Goodnight, Khaleesi.”</p><p>He leaves her then, the flaps of the tent swishing just slightly as if they’re sighing on a secret, and despite everything, Daenerys smiles.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 01x05, 'The Wolf and the Lion'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Glass.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Viserys may not be as foolish as he looks; he dare not test her warning. A king can’t lead a glorious conquest if he has no hands.</p><p>That doesn’t stop him screaming at her, his face crimson, his eyes crazed, spittle flying. She’s a savage’s slut, a horse’s brood mare. The dragon smokes and snaps.</p><p>Today she’s offended him yet again with another gift. A glass dragon, purchased from one of the merchants in Vaes Dothrak, a crude, ugly thing that she’d thought her brother would appreciate nevertheless.</p><p>She expects too much of him.</p><p>“This is nothing like a true dragon!” he screeches, stopping just short of grabbing hold of her. “Made by some barbarian who has never seen a dragon! It makes a mockery of us! Are you trying to belittle what little respect our family name has left!? You might enjoy such savagery now that you’re just a horsefucker’s whore, but not me! Not the blood of the dragon!”</p><p>He sweeps his hand dramatically along the surface of the trestle table, sending the little glass dragon spinning, spinning, shattering on the floor.</p><p>She remembers Ser Jorah’s words: <em>you’d be a much better queen than Viserys would king.</em></p><p>As if summoned by her thought, she hears his voice from the entrance, deep and commanding: “What’s going on here?” Never a king, but every inch the knight.</p><p>Viserys glances between them, his lip curling in scornful disdain.</p><p>He’s not stupid enough to continue in front of Ser Jorah, who makes for a formidable figure as he looms there.</p><p>“Nothing at all,” Viserys says, and barges his shoulder into Ser Jorah’s as he passes. The knight barely flinches.</p><p>The broken glass lays shattered on the floor and with it are the splintered remnants of the last bond between brother and sister.</p><p>She should be embarrassed that the knight witnessed such a scene, but Ser Jorah says nothing, simply moves into the tent to help her sweep the fragmented shards away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 01x06, 'A Golden Crown'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Honour.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>You stand there, all nobility and honour</em>, Viserys had sneered at him. <em>You don’t think I know what you want?</em></p><p>The words cut Jorah to the core. Force him to confront something he has tried so hard to ignore.</p><p>He wants Daenerys Targaryen.</p><p>Not in the crude, animalistic way that Viserys had mocked him with.</p><p>
  <em>You can dine on whichever parts of her you like.</em>
</p><p>But he can no longer deny it.</p><p>He’s attracted to her. How can he not be? She’s beautiful. That silver-blonde hair gilded gold in the candlelight, those violet eyes…</p><p>Her <em>strength</em>. He’s met many women in his life. His own kin are amongst the greatest in the whole of Westeros, as fearsome as any man in battle, just as fierce as mothers.</p><p>But Daenerys’ strength is something else entirely. A grit borne entirely of loss. She is on a path of self-discovery, and she is showing everyone that she is stronger than anyone thought she could be.</p><p>She ate the full horse’s heart and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more proud of someone. He’s not sure <em>he </em>could have kept it down.</p><p>
  <em>The Stallion Who Mounts the World.</em>
</p><p>The crones proclaim it for all to hear, a war cry. Rhaego, Daenerys will name him. He will join the Khalasars as one tribe. This unborn child could be the key to taking them home.</p><p>He can’t pretend to be an honourable man, not when that honour lies in tatters around his feet. He lost that the moment he sold those poachers to the slavers. But when all the rest is gone he has to have <em>some </em>shred of dignity, some code to live his life by. He is a knight. Mayhaps a poor excuse for one, but a knight nevertheless.</p><p><em>Let me go, </em>Viserys had said, but he had blocked his path anyway.</p><p>He is not in any position to act on the feelings that have taken root inside his heart.</p><p>But, whatever else be damned, he will honour his silent promise to protect Daenerys Stormborn from her brother.</p><p>And so here he stands.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 01x07, 'You Win or You Die'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Work.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ser Jorah says that he’s seen a man last nine miles.</p><p>The wine merchant isn’t as lucky. Three miles in, he falls.</p><p>The Dothraki jeer when he does, and Rakharo cuts him loose. He falls like a sack of potatoes, a pathetic sight.</p><p>Perhaps he is lucky. His torment is over.</p><p>The Dothraki leave him there in the dust, to be trampled on or mauled by whatever predators come across him.</p><p>Ser Jorah says little as they go. He hasn’t said much since he saved her. Whatever preoccupies him, it’s shielded from her.</p><p>She has her own concerns to dwell upon.</p><p>Chiefly, the fact that Drogo has finally decided to turn his attention towards Westeros. He’s promised Rhaego the throne.</p><p>It’s rather ironic, Daenerys muses. Viserys spent months trailing after them like an ill-tempered dog, ranting and raving about Drogo not fulfilling his end of the bargain. Her own attempts at persuasion in their tent, as she’d braided his hair and they’d had perhaps the longest conversation of their marriage, had failed spectacularly.</p><p>Viserys would have been furious to know that all it took to change Drogo’s mind was a clumsy attempt on his son’s life. Viserys had tried that himself, but even that hadn’t roused anything more than disdain in Drogo’s eyes.</p><p>It was sad, really, in how pathetic it was. How pathetic her brother had been.</p><p>But there is a part of her that feels a sense of resentment, too. Mostly she has been successful in pushing it down. Last night, she had shown her gratitude for Drogo’s promises most enthusiastically. But today there is a slight niggle, which grew with every laboured breath that the wine merchant took as he attempted to keep up.</p><p>He hadn’t been interested in her opinion. Is only taking this course of action for his son.</p><p>None of it is for her.</p><p>And it leaves her wondering if Drogo actually sees her as a woman, his khaleesi, or if she is just a commodity.</p><p>And she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 01x08, 'The Pointy End'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Jealous</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as Mago collapses to the floor, blood still gushing from where his throat had been, Daenerys breaks free of his delicate hold on her forearm and bolts towards her husband.</p><p>Jorah feels the pang instantly. A stabbing feeling right in his gut.</p><p><em>“My sun and stars,” </em>he hears her murmur, reaching out to touch Drogo. There are speckles of blood all over his face and blood dribbles from the arakh cut over his pectoral, but Daenerys pays it no mind.</p><p>The lamb woman, the healer, comes forward and offers her services. Qotho spits at her feet and then strikes her, but Daenerys has found her voice, her <em>fire</em>, and demands to be listened to.</p><p>She wants Drogo’s wound tended to. He insists that it’s nothing more than the bite of a fly, but she will not be moved on that point.  And so he softens, and allows her.</p><p>And that strange beast in Jorah’s stomach rears its head, unfurls its wings; it’s almost dragonesque in its ferocity.</p><p>Lynesse never fussed over him that way. She was only ever interested in what he could give her. He sold his honour to give her fine silk dresses, and in the end it had been for naught. She had left him for another man, and he had been left with nothing.</p><p>After that, the only thing that mattered was getting home.</p><p>Until now. Until Daenerys.</p><p>And he doesn’t want to speak the name of that bear roaring in his stomach, but denying it does not make it any less real.</p><p>He’d been so sure that he would never feel the same way about a woman again like he had Lynesse, but Daenerys Targaryen has proven him to be a liar.</p><p>And she makes him feel the same way that Lynesse did, lost in the shadows of other men who are better in so many ways than him.</p><p>She isn’t cruel with it. Won’t even realise, for it’s not her duty to do so.</p><p>But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 01x09, 'Baelor'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Strings.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Khal Drogo is beyond help.</p><p>But Daenerys isn’t. And, gods willing, neither is her child. Jorah doesn’t want to be responsible for anything happening to them.</p><p>Something dances in the tent. Demonic noises issue from within its depths. Mayhaps Qotho was right after all, and Mirri Maz Duur was a witch rather than a healer. He doesn’t want to go in there.</p><p>But the midwives won’t come. Even Rakharo can’t be convinced to fetch them. They think her mad to dabble in something so dangerous.</p><p>She should have let Drogo go.</p><p>But she loves him. And Jorah knows something about the madness of love.</p><p>He carries her into the tent, afraid of what he’ll see.</p><p>Demons, shadows, hell...</p><p>A blood bath, a dead horse, and Khal Drogo lying prostrate. All tricks and lies after all.</p><p>Or perhaps not. Mirri Maz Duur stops singing and turns those dark eyes on him. Sinister.</p><p>“I said no one could enter.”</p><p>He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. “The baby is coming.”</p><p>There’s a gleam in her eyes. Daenerys groans, barely cognizant. Jorah shushes her gently.</p><p>“Help her.”</p><p>She indicates the furs in the corner. “Lay her there. Ensure no one else enters.”</p><p>Jorah does as he’s bid. He doesn’t want to leave her alone, but he won’t be any use to her. He brushes a strand of her silver-blonde hair away from her face, pushes himself back to his feet, and heads for the tent’s entrance.</p><p>He stands stationary with his hand on the hilt of his sword, blood flecked across his face and trickling down his neck.</p><p>The screams go on and on. The shadows dance.</p><p>And then, nothing. Terrible silence.</p><p>Jorah strains to hear Rhaego’s cries.</p><p>Mirri Maz Durr appears at the flap of the tent.</p><p>“Come,” she says to Irri. After a moment’s hesitation, a deer ready to skitter, she does so.</p><p>More silence.</p><p>And then Irri <em>screams</em>.</p><p>Jorah whips around, already drawing his sword, but Irri is not in danger; she reappears, the colour drained from her face, a ghost.</p><p><em>“Monster,”</em> she says.</p><p>His hopes snap like thread.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 01x10, 'Fire and Blood'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Semantics.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jorah has never been the kind of man to believe in magic. Even growing up in the superstitious north hadn’t imparted these attitudes on him.</p><p>He’s seen too much in the last few months to disbelieve anymore.</p><p>This compounds it all.</p><p>Three dragons, their scales rippling in the grey light of dawn.</p><p>He’d seen the magic in Daenerys from the start.</p><p>This is something else entirely.</p><p>He falls to his knees before her.</p><p>“Blood of my blood,” he breathes, unable to disguise his wonder.</p><p>Today those who remained have witnessed the birth of a goddess. This will truly be her Khalasar, her loyal followers come what may.</p><p>He is the first person she approaches. Their eyes meet. She says so much in that one look. Gratefulness for him trusting her, relief that he stuck to his words, a newfound determination sparking in her eyes. She too has been born anew amongst the fire, the fourth dragon to spread her wings.</p><p>“Here,” she says, holding the dragons out to him. “Hold them while I cover myself.”</p><p><em>The first man to do so in centuries</em>. They’re tiny, all talons and teeth. They do not seem afraid to be passed into his possession, perhaps sensing that the woman who gave them life trusts him with hers.</p><p>“I dreamed I would put them in the fire and they would hatch,” she says.</p><p>“A prophecy?” he wonders. Targaryens have had visions before, or so he’s heard.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Her small fingers close around his wrist. “But thank you for not abandoning me, Jorah.”</p><p>“Never,” he vows. “I am sworn to you until my last breath, Khaleesi.”</p><p>That dull niggling starts again, that guilt that shadows his every step. He hasn’t always been loyal.</p><p>But, he tries to tell himself, that doesn’t matter now. No harm came to her. He stopped that. And he <em>will</em> die protecting her. Was it really betrayal?</p><p>He tries telling himself that it wasn’t.</p><p>That that dull niggling is only the golden dragon’s claws as they dig into his forearm and slice it open, droplets of blood blooming.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Interlude I--Season Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so, so much for all of your lovely comments and kudos over these past chapters. I really appreciate them. &lt;3 I don't reply because I don't like skewering my comment count, but I read them all and they mean so much. &lt;3</p><p>An updated note--I am now allowing myself two five hundred word drabbles per season as some of them are impossible to get down (wish I'd just set them all at five hundred from the start, LOL). Also I'm trying to do equal POVs per season.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the aftermath Jorah collapses back against the pillows, drawing air into his heaving lungs. His chest is wet with perspiration, and he pushes his hair back from his forehead, throwing the covers from his body to let the blessedly cool air lap at him. By contrast, Daenerys lounges languid and sated.  She turns to watch him with a lazy smile, reaching out to rest her palm against his stomach.</p><p>“Thank you, ser,” she says.</p><p>“I aim to please,” he replies dryly, repressing a shiver as her fingernails scratch him lightly. He knows what she’s trying to do. She’s as insatiable as any dragon.</p><p>“You please me well, ser,” she says, crooking a flirty eyebrow.</p><p>He loves to see her this way in the morning, dishevelled and pinked beneath the sheets. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined he could be so lucky. First he was her friend, then he was spurned; after being allowed back into her ranks he had promised himself that he would always be grateful for that and would never again crave anything more.</p><p>It was a folly, of course. The heart wants what the heart wants. Despite what he’d told himself, his head had no control over what his heart felt.</p><p>In the barren Red Waste, in the opulence of Qarth, in the claustrophobia of the Slaver Cities, he would never have expected that they would ever be here.</p><p>He had been too fervid in those days in the greatest city that ever was or will be; she had shrunk away from it like a mimosa pudica, ill-equipped for such intensity. And thus he suffered his first rejection, his first burns at her hands. If the Warlocks had ever tempted him with such a vision he would have thought them cruel. But here they are: in a luxurious bedchamber in King’s Landing, in a world all of their own. He turns on his side to face her and, despite the stifling heaviness of the air, accepts her embrace as she winds her arms around his neck and pulls him to her once more.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 02x01, 'The North Remembers'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Innocence.</p><p>Also, it's unlikely that I will be updating this fic next week--just probably not going to have enough time. BUT I might make up for it the following week by posting four ficlets, so swings and roundabouts!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Daenerys had emerged from the fire with her three children, she had felt invincible. She had done something no one had done for centuries. She had brought dragons back into the world.</p><p>The achievement had made her feel powerful. Given her the illusion that anything was possible. Even getting through the Red Waste.</p><p>Jorah had warned her that it wouldn’t be so easy. The desert land had its name for a reason.</p><p>But there is nowhere else for them to go. To venture backwards into the Dothraki Sea would be suicide. Jorah and her three bloodriders are the best fighters she has left. Four men couldn’t take on a whole Khalasar determined to slit her throat.</p><p>So onwards they must press. There will be a way out.</p><p>But now she curses her naivety. They are running out of provisions. Her Khalasar of old men and women grows weaker by the day. Some have passed. Four horses remain.</p><p>Jorah tries to cheer her. He sits with her on the evenings, when the sand is hard and cold to the touch, and tells her stories. Those stories help her to believe that there might be a way out of this hell.</p><p>She worries that that is another fantasy brought on by childish innocence.</p><p>“Aye,” Jorah says, smiling faintly through cracked lips, “mayhaps it is. But we all need some of that belief sometimes. Sometimes it’s the only thing that can drag us through.”</p><p>Innocence, naivety, Dany doesn’t think Jorah has any of that left. He is a seasoned warrior. She is just a silly little girl who has led them into a dire situation.</p><p>“You can’t think like that,” Jorah urges. “These people believe in you. You must believe in yourself.”</p><p>“And you, Ser Jorah? Do you believe in me?”</p><p>“Of course,” he vows. “I’m here, aren’t I?”</p><p>And perhaps it’s naïve of her to take comfort from that, words meant to placate and soothe, but she settles down beside him, using him as a shield against the brunt of the sharp desert winds, and takes comfort from them nevertheless.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. 02x02, 'The Night Lands'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Dispose.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jorah drives the point of the arakh into the ground, his arms tingling at the impact. He’s attempting to dig a hole.</p><p>A hole for Rakharo’s head, so they can comfort themselves with the lie that it won’t be savaged by desert predators.</p><p>Irri is inconsolable. Daenerys keeps her close, wrapping thin arms around her frail form, murmuring empty platitudes in her ear, her own violet eyes filled with grief.</p><p>They have so little wood left for themselves. The funeral pyre they built for Rakharo is a pitiful thing, hardly worthy of the name. Nor did Daenerys think that it would be a good idea to spend the entire evening with nostrils singed with the smell of burning flesh. They agreed it between the two of them: Jorah would take Rakharo’s head beyond the perimeter of their small camp, whilst Daenerys burned his tiny braid in the hopes that it would buy him passage to the Night Lands.</p><p>So Jorah works alone. The arakh is hardly the ideal tool for such a task, but they have nothing else. He works tirelessly, strike after strike, sending clods of dried earth flying with each swing. He’s morbidly grateful for the work. At night the temperatures drop, and this is keeping him warm.</p><p>But he feels a powerful sorrow too. He’d liked Rakharo. The young Dothrakan had had plenty of conversations with him around the fire pits. He would have made a fine bloodrider if his life hadn’t been cut so tragically short. Jorah doesn’t want to dwell on what might have been done to him.</p><p>When the hole is deep enough, he takes the sack and places it in the ground. He tries to be gentle, not wishing to scorn his dignity any further. When that is accomplished, he kicks dirt back over the hole.</p><p>“He was a good man.” Daenerys’ voice is small behind him. Jorah turns towards her. She looks so vulnerable, her hair straw-like, covered in dirt and dust.</p><p>“He was,” he agrees. “How is Irri?”</p><p>“Still in shock,” she says. “I’ve left her with Doreah.”</p><p>“And how are you?”</p><p>She lets out a brittle laugh. “I don’t know. I’m not certain of anything anymore.”</p><p>“Kovarro and Aggo are still out there. One of them will come back with good news,” he says, with more certainty than he feels.</p><p>“We can pray to the gods,” says Daenerys. She looks down upon that sorry pile of dirt, tears welling in her eyes. <em>“Ride well, blood of my blood.”</em></p><p>They stand in silent pain for a moment, before Daenerys’ small hand creeps into his. Startled, Jorah glances down at her. She remains looking at the ground, but she says, “Thank you, Jorah.”</p><p>“Of course,” he says, inferring her meaning. “We couldn’t leave him to the carrions.”</p><p>She lets out a strangled sob, the veneer of the khaleesi crumbling. All he can do is squeeze her hand.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. 02x03, 'What is Dead May Never Die'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Blaze</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their dire predicament seems to have stretched on for an eternity, and there has still been no word from Kovarro or Aggo. Jorah wonders if they found an oasis somewhere and decided not to return. He wonders if they’ve met the same fate as Rakharo.</p><p>The days are listless. The Khalasar shuffles around the small encampment, corpse-like, barely issuing two words to one another. Talking takes energy they do not have. The three dragons are emaciated. They’re down to their last water. Their rations ran out yesterday.</p><p>Daenerys must shoulder all of these worries. She too says little, growing weaker by the day, unable to drum up any words of solace as they burn beneath the harsh sun.</p><p>The night compels them to speak, if only to keep the monsters at bay; Daenerys is never far from his side.</p><p>She tips her head back. “You know, the sky over this place is beautiful, isn’t it?”</p><p>Jorah picks out the thousand pricks of stars glittering overhead. “It is. This place enhances it.”</p><p>His morbid attempt at humour raises a laugh. She leans back on her hands, fingernails sinking into the sand. “A terrible kind of beauty?”</p><p>“Something like that yes.”</p><p>“People could say that about dragons.”</p><p>He casts her a sideways look. “I wouldn’t say they were wrong, Khaleesi. There <em>is </em>a terrible kind of beauty about dragons.” Their scales glisten a hundred colours when the sunlight reflects on them. Their thin, withered wings are majestic. The sound of dragon song is a haunting melody.</p><p>But he’s heard the stories too. How four thousand men burned in the Field of Fire when Aegon descended on Balerion the Black Dread. How dragon tore apart dragon in the Dance, talons ripping scales from bone, blood steaming hotter than flame, a gruesome tragedy.</p><p>Daenerys purses her lips. He’s quick to appease her.</p><p>“They’re still the most beautiful things in Essos,” he says.</p><p>That makes her smile again, and she goes back to contemplating the stars. Jorah remains silent, wrestling with the swirling feelings in his stomach.</p><p>They’re an inferno. And he will burn.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. 02x04, 'Garden of Bones'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Neglect.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The end of the Red Waste is finally in sight. Kovarro leads them on. The Khalasar somehow find the strength to drag itself along behind him.</p><p>Daenerys forces herself to take one step after the other, getting herself through it only be imagining the feast that could await them at the other end. Rich meats and meads, juicy fruit.</p><p>Her stomach cramps with hunger. The definitions of Jorah’s cheekbones have grown more prominent. Her Khalasar are all skin and bone.</p><p>The garden of bones, Jorah had told her, lies outside Qarth. A garden that grows each time the Qartheen deny entry to those who seek shelter. They are pinning all of their hopes on a more positive outcome.</p><p>“They will let us in,” she says aloud to Jorah, perhaps to give herself more confidence.</p><p>“If the gods are kind,” Jorah says grimly. He is ever practical, but she won’t let him dampen her hope.</p><p>She is tired of looking at the malnourished faces around her. She had promised them all that she would take care of them. Instead she has only led them into starvation and fear.</p><p>She will not fail them again.</p><p>She looks at Jorah, drawn and tired and thinner than he’s ever been.</p><p>She will not fail <em>Jorah </em>again.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. 02x05, 'The Ghost of Harrenhal'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Quake.</p><p>Back to the usual posting schedule from now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daenerys lies in her bed, unable to sleep.</p><p>The conversation from earlier that evening plays round and round in her head like the thunderous crash of horse’s hooves.</p><p>
  <em>There are times when I look at you and I still can’t believe you’re real.</em>
</p><p>The yearning in his voice, the reverence.</p><p>Jorah, off-guard for perhaps the first time since she’s known him. His eyes <em>alive </em>with his yearning, moving closer almost unconsciously, until he’s not quite in her space, the scent of his sweat and the Qartheen perfumes right there in her nostrils, <em>something </em>thick and charged between them, too much to bear…</p><p>
  <em>How long has your manservant been in love with you?</em>
</p><p>Daenerys rolls onto her side, burying her head in her pillow.</p><p>It’s not true. It’s <em>not</em>. Xaro Xhoan Daxos’ sly words had been spoken to get a reaction. Jorah cares about her. That’s all it is. He believes in her. She’s seeing things she ought not to see because of those words.</p><p><em>A witch’s words poison the ears, </em>she remembers Qotho saying, voice filled with contempt. There are warlocks here. Perhaps this is just another illusion sent to try her.</p><p>But, deep down, she knows that there is something more. The devotion in his voice, the intensity in his eyes, the drop of his head when the simmering connection broke.</p><p>She hadn’t even noticed it happening. The brushes of his fingers against her, his presence wherever she goes. It had been the most natural thing in the world. She hadn’t thought anything of it. It just <em>was</em>.</p><p>
  <em>I can almost always tell what a man wants.</em>
</p><p>Stupid, she scolds herself. She should have kept him at arm’s length. Made it clear that a queen and a knight could not have any kind of story.</p><p>But something has shifted, a quake in the earth as it fluctuates and fissures, knocking her off her feet, reshaping everything she has ever known.</p><p>And nothing will be the same again.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. 02x06, 'The Old Gods and the New'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Guess.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daenerys is in a pit of vipers. Whichever way she turns, there could be a snake ready to lash out, to sink its fangs into her arm and inject its poison into her veins.</p><p>Jorah is gone. Irri is dead. Doreah is missing. So are her dragons. A handful of Dothraki remain.</p><p>Who can she trust?</p><p>Xaro insists that it’s too dark to go stumbling around Qarth searching for her dragons; they must wait until the morning. Dany doesn’t want to wait. Whoever has her dragons could be long gone by now, sneaking onto a ship from the docks and seeking passage to somewhere only the gods know.</p><p>But Kovarro had implored that she stay, the usually jovial Dothrakan serious and almost afraid. He has taken the vigil outside her palace himself, gripping his arakh tight; she can see his shadow out on the balcony.</p><p>But even knowing he is there doesn’t help her. She can’t sleep. Every time she closes her eyes she is met with a whorl of scenarios. So many possibilities. So many questions. Was it one person? More?  She doesn’t know how one person could have slain all of her Dothraki. Had Doreah come across the intruders after the fact and been dragged away to be raped and gutted?</p><p>And where is Jorah? She doesn’t think he’d leave her in this place, but the darkness is like a predator, feeding on her uncertainties. And she spurned him at their last parting. Perhaps he has gone away to lick his wounds.</p><p>If he was here he’d calm her. Reassure her. Have some logical answers that she could at least try to comfort herself with.</p><p>But he isn’t here.</p><p>She wishes she could turn back the time. She doesn’t know how she would do things differently, but if she could she would.</p><p>Instead she will have to live with the fact that she has questions that she can only guess the answers to.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. 02x07, 'A Man Without Honour'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Quarrel.</p><p>Probably no updates next week, but I'll catch up the week after if not.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jorah curses himself for his stupidity. He should have known better than to show any of his heart. He should have known better than to think that there was the slightest chance.</p><p>Daenerys Stormborn is a woman born to rule, and he is nothing more than a disgraced knight. She had been married to one of the strongest men in the world. She will have a thousand other offers before her life is done. Each and every one of them will be more than what an exile can offer.</p><p>And he has ruined things.</p><p>Daenerys isn’t the same around him. There’s a coldness to her violet eyes, a hint of frost to her tone, like ice bobbing in the Bay of Ice. She’s stilted. Formal. The easiness between them has vanished, and it’s all down to him.</p><p>
  <em>You are too familiar.</em>
</p><p>A warning. One he must heed. This place is doing strange things to them all. It has a cloying energy that makes him feel ill-at-ease. They can’t afford to fight between themselves too, otherwise they will be picked off one by one.</p><p>And she’d sounded so vulnerable when he’d raced back to her.</p><p>
  <em>You came back…</em>
</p><p>A girl’s joy. Relief, as if she’d been afraid that he wouldn’t return. And as contrary as she’s been recently, that look of wonder on her face lets him know that she’s still glad to have his presence with her.</p><p>And he will do whatever it takes to fulfil her wish.</p><p><em>Find my dragons</em>.</p><p>He will. Whatever it takes. No matter what enemies they may have, his priority will always be her wishes, whatever may come.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. 02x08, 'The Prince of Winterfell'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word prompt: Brood.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s silence in the courtyard.</p><p>Kovarro sits on a broken wall, arakh across his knees, awaiting instruction.</p><p>Jorah sighs, scrubbing his hand over his chin and moving across to Daenerys’ side. He leans down to her, keeping his voice low, conscious that the warlocks or Xaro could be stalking the area right at this very moment.</p><p>“I know this is hard for you. But we will go to the House of the Undying as soon as possible.”</p><p>Daenerys’ expression is set in that of a petulant child’s. “We should go now.”</p><p>Qarth has made her impulsive and impatient. She wants everything <em>now</em>. Especially when it comes to her dragons. He can’t pretend to understand her.</p><p>But so too has he found that he can’t deny her anything. Which is why he has consented to her madness. She’s headstrong. There’s no reasoning with her on this.</p><p>“They want you to go the House of the Undying,” he’d said. “You heard Pyat Pree.”</p><p>“So why are we delaying?” she’d returned, all fire. “They will tear us out root and stem either way. Why give them the satisfaction of thinking we’re scared? <em>I’m </em>not.”</p><p>And therein lies the difficulty. She’s so young, still learning how to spread her wings and push the boundaries of everything she’s ever known. He is world-weary and jaded. He’s seen enough of life to know things rarely go as planned. He’s fought in wars. He was a lord. He’s learned the hard way that sometimes it’s the better thing to do to sit back and take stock than charge in with blind fearlessness.</p><p>Daenerys is blood of the dragon. Dragons are reactionary creatures.</p><p>She’s taking his reluctance as a slight. Her scowl deepening, she turns her head away from him, sullenly letting him know that the conversation is over and she has no wish to speak to him further. Jorah sighs, but he doesn’t push his luck. With one last glance in her direction, he moves back to the crumbling wall, peering through the cracks for any glimpse of the enemy, going back to his own brooding thoughts.</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. 02x09, 'Blackwater'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt word: Effort</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jorah’s eyes burn. It’s a struggle to keep them open. He doesn’t <em>have </em>to. But he will do so anyway.</p><p>By his side, Daenerys sits with her knees tucked up to her chin. Sheer exhaustion has led her to sleep.</p><p>Jorah is glad she has found some brief respite.</p><p>He’d taken the first watch for the night, but Kovarro has succeeded him now. Jorah can only make out the black shape of him. They dare not light a fire in case it brings their enemies swarming.</p><p>But it still fills him with unease.</p><p>Enough unease that even though he should sleep, he won’t. What if they’re taken by surprise? What if Kovarro is overwhelmed before they can gather their own defences? What if Daenerys’ throat is slit while he sleeps? He’d never forgive himself.</p><p>So he sits there as she slumbers, his eyes watering and burning. He blinks, Kovarro a fuzzy image. He rubs a hand over his eyes to clear them. His head is heavy. He blinks again when Kovarro shifts. Then again.</p><p>He doesn’t remember closing his eyes. But he jerks violently awake when something touches his shoulder, his vision swimming, struggling to connect the image in front of him to Kovarro.</p><p>The Dothrakan whispers, <em>“It’s dawn, Jorah the Andal.”</em></p><p>Jorah turns his head just slightly. His neck is sore and his shoulders ache, but all of that vanishes when he sees Daenerys. It ought not to surprise him. After all, she is blood of the dragon. Dragons are fire made flesh.</p><p>She’s moved in the night; now her cheekbone presses against the meat of his shoulder. Any further and she would be in the crook of his neck.</p><p>He’s acutely aware of Kovarro grinning at him, and feels heat prickling at his skull.</p><p><em>“I’ll join you in a moment,”</em> he says quickly.</p><p>But Kovarro waves his hand casually. <em>“Stay where you are, Jorah the Andal. Khaleesi looks comfortable. And so do you.”</em></p><p>Jorah opens his mouth to argue, but Kovarro has already turned away, smirking knowingly to himself.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. 02x10, 'Valar Morghulis'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt word: Now.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Khaleesi!”</p><p>It’s Jorah’s cry that greets her as she stumbles out of the House of the Undying, clutching at her children. They chirp and rustle about, Drogon hopping from one shoulder to the other like a bird. She glances up to find Jorah hurrying towards her, sword at the ready. He grasps at her wrist and pulls her behind him; she almost stumbles over.</p><p>“Where are the warlocks?” he asks urgently.</p><p>“Dead, I think,” she pants.</p><p>“Dead!?”</p><p>“The dragons…we set them on fire.”</p><p>Viserion clicks, puffing out his little chest with pride.</p><p>“How in seven hells did you even get in there? I was following you, then you were gone…”</p><p>“I don’t know. Magic,” she says wanly.</p><p>Thankfully, he seems to detect the tremble in her voice, the crack in her Khaleesi’s vaneer. Turning to Kovarro, he calls, <em>“Wait outside, make sure we’re still alone. We’ll be there in a moment.”</em></p><p>Jorah doesn’t have the authority to command the Dothraki, but Kovarro respects him enough not to argue. Casting one last look in their direction, he grips his arakh tighter and nods, disappearing from sight.</p><p>Only when he’s gone does Jorah turn back to her, concern lacing his tone. “What happened to you?”</p><p>She’s only just realised she’s shivering. The visions…they were all so real.</p><p>Mummer’s tricks, she tells herself fiercely. Smoke. Meant to scare her and tempt her into losing herself. Just remembering Rhaego and Drogo sitting there in the sunquenched tent brings a powerful ache right in her chest.</p><p>But there were the other visions too. Standing alone in the vast expanse of the North with the Wall at her back, the cold biting into her skin like fangs from a viper.</p><p>And then the Throne Room, twisted and blackened and gnarled, with snow drifting and covering the flagstones like a victor’s banner. Or was it ash?</p><p>“Khaleesi?”</p><p>She shakes herself out of her stupor at Jorah’s voice. Rhaegal butts up against her chin with his scaly head in an attempt to remind her of their presence.</p><p>“Later,” she croaks.</p><p>Jorah never pushes her. He only nods. But she is compelled to stumble closer, and throw her arms around him in a complete act of spontaneous relief. Viserion squeaks in protest and scrambles from between them. The little dragon comes to a rest on Jorah’s shoulder, but Jorah doesn’t seem to notice him. He’s startled by her sudden show, but he is never one to deny her; his arms come tentatively around her too.</p><p>And it’s foolish, she knows that. But it’s the comfort she needs right now.</p><p>Her dreams come true, but what about visions? Will they manifest one dark day in the future?</p><p>She hopes not, but perhaps they will. And the thought is terrifying.</p><p>But, as Jorah moves his hand hesitantly over her back, she forces the fear away. Those are worries for another day. The here and now is all that matters.</p><p>And right now they have some scores to settle.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Interlude II--Season Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you again for all of the comments/kudos/follows, they're much appreciated.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a knock on the door as the sun just begins to kiss the rooftops of the buildings in King’s Landing.</p><p>Jorah’s been lying awake anyway, one arm pillowed behind his head, staring up at the opulent canopy above him, the other holding Daenerys close. She’s sprawled across his chest, her hair a silver river across his skin, deep in her own thoughts. That’s one of the things he loves most about her. Any silence they have is never awkward. They can just <em>be </em>together.</p><p>But that knock stirs Daenerys, and she emits a groan. Jorah chuckles to mask his own disappointment, trailing his hand up her back.</p><p>“We always knew the peace would end,” he says. “The time just happens to be now.”</p><p>“I wish it could have been later,” Daenerys grumbles. He bends to kiss her in consolation.</p><p>The knock comes again, accompanied by a call of, “Your Grace!”</p><p>The handmaidens aren’t foolish enough to enter without permission. They know that the queen isn’t to be disturbed when she’s in her chambers with her husband. Some of that have learnt that from experience.</p><p>Jorah slips out of bed, padding over to the dresser to pull on trousers and a shirt. When he’s covered if not decently dressed, Daenerys calls out her consent.</p><p>The handmaiden gives him a darting look, and he turns away to the balcony instead, giving her the space to work with Daenerys without him getting in the way.</p><p>He stares out across the city, breathing in its scent. Not all pleasant, but it’s all Daenerys’. This is the empire she’s built.</p><p>Much like she had across the Narrow Sea, carving a path from Astapor, to Yunkai, to Meereen. The long days between each destination are still fond memories. How brilliant she had been then. Commanding. Clever. He had been so lucky to serve her. Witnessing her plans coming to life. Building her armies piece by piece. <em>Gods</em>, if it was possible he had fallen even further in love with her, enamoured by her strength, by her <em>everything</em>.</p><p>As he always will be.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. 03x01, 'Valar Dohaeris'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her future successes hinge on the meeting with the Astaporian Master.</p><p>Daenerys dislikes the idea. It feels… dirty, somehow. People would call her stupid. It’s the way the world works; empires have been built on this.</p><p>That doesn’t make it right to her. Why should anyone profit off someone else’s <em>life</em>?</p><p>Daenerys moves over to the porthole in her cabin to catch a glimpse of the proud city as it breathes around their ship. The slaves are easy to pick out. Dusty clothes. Faces void of all emotion, for what is there to be joyous about here?</p><p>The black collars, stark around their throats.</p><p>There’s a knock on the door of her cabin.</p><p>“Come in,” she calls.</p><p>“Khaleesi.” It’s Jorah. “Are you ready to go?”</p><p>She nods. Jorah waits for her patiently, bracing one arm against the doorframe.</p><p>“I know you don’t like this,” he notes. “But it’s something you need to consider.”</p><p>She purses her lips. Jorah doesn’t quite understand her reservations. He sympathises, but this is the way the world has always been. He’s never had to experience it for himself.</p><p>She hasn’t, not in the same way that these people have, but she <em>does </em>understand more than other rulers do.</p><p>She’d meant what she’d said on deck. It <em>is </em>too nice a day to argue. Sometimes she even enjoys it when they butt heads; it’s <em>liberating </em>that she can speak so freely with someone, that he isn’t afraid to speak his mind and will challenge her ideas. Sometimes she enjoys that back- and- forthing more than she should.</p><p>It’s that thought that’s in her head when she reaches him.</p><p>There’s a flicker in his eyes.</p><p>Sometimes Dany thinks Jorah can read her mind. Right now she’s afraid that he can.</p><p>There’s a spark of <em>something</em>, heavy, suffocating.</p><p>For a suspended moment, she’s almost sure that Jorah will lean in.</p><p>Kiss her.</p><p>She can <em>imagine </em>it: his warm, chapped lips on hers; the chafe of his beard against her cheek, the warmth of his tongue questing forwards.</p><p>His hands, so often restrained, breaking free of their chains to wrap around her waist and pull her closer.</p><p>And she’d push him away—of course she would, for he must not forget his place!—but there is a seed of doubt planted within her belly too, that’s been slowly growing its roots inside her since their escapades in Qarth: <em>would she be quick to push him away?</em></p><p>Yes, she tells herself firmly. Of course she would. She’s not attracted to Jorah. It’s only a idle thought because it’s been so long since she was last with Drogo, there are bound to be some latent sexual frissons…</p><p>She doesn’t have to find out the answer. Jorah clears his throat and steps away.</p><p>“After you, Khaleesi,” is all he says.</p><p>She pushes past him, grateful to not have to follow behind, taking in the broad strength of him.</p><p>She has enough problems to solve without adding to them.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. 03x02, 'Dark Wings, Dark Words'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: Rest.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today Daenerys stood before Barristan the Bold, one of the greatest knights the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen. The man who single-handedly rescued her father from Duskendale.</p><p>“Who served the Usurper for seventeen years,” Jorah notes grimly, pacing the floor in her cabin, one hand tight around the pommel of his sword. “How do we know what he wants? The Boy King could have sent him here to spy on us.”</p><p>Ser Barristan is now settled into one of the cabins…not exactly guarded by her Dothraki, but certainly being kept a watchful eye on.</p><p>Daenerys wants to believe that Ser Barristan has no ulterior motive. He’d served her family faithfully. He’s travelled all this way to find her, <em>saved her life</em>.</p><p>“He’s a knight,” she says stubbornly, snatching a grape from the bowl on the table. She chews it thoughtfully before adding, “Knights are honourable.”</p><p>Jorah snorts. “They’re not all the shining noblemen they’re said to be in the songs.”</p><p>“<em>You </em>are,” Daenerys says.</p><p>Jorah’s mouth thins. He looks as if he wants to say something, but keeps his counsel. She wonders at it, but doesn’t push.</p><p>“Well, I’ve made my decision,” she says. “Ser Barristan doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who will betray me. My instincts tell me I can trust him. I want to bring him aboard. I will always treasure your council, but I need more than just your help if I want to take the Seven Kingdoms.”</p><p>Jorah doesn’t seem to like the answer very much, but he doesn’t argue. She pushes a tankard towards him.</p><p>“Have a drink with me,” she says. “Trust me on this, and we’ll say no more about it.”</p><p>He takes the goblet. Something is still bothering him, but whatever it is she can only guess at; he’s retracted back into himself, his gaze turned away from her.</p><p>She puts it down to the fact that he dislikes her decision. Well, no matter. She is a queen. It is her decision to make.</p><p>Ser Barristan is to join them.</p><p>And so the matter is laid to rest.</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. 03x03, 'Walk of Punishment'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: Soon.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tonight, Daenerys is unsettled.</p><p>Ser Barristan’s hesitation she can understand. He has been with them a few scant days. He knows nothing about her other than her name. He doesn’t know the journey she has been on, the strength she has found within herself to overcome all obstacles that have been placed in her way.</p><p>But Jorah does.</p><p>Today he’d still doubted her.</p><p>To say she is cross is an understatement. Even when he disagrees with her, he never does so in front of anyone else, and never with such misgiving in her abilities.</p><p>It stings. Which makes her more determined to focus on her anger, for she doesn’t want to think about why it should hurt so much.</p><p>Usually Jorah joins her for supper in her quarters, but tonight she has snubbed him, choosing Missandei alone. The other woman is intelligent but shy, no doubt still a little uncertain about the whole situation. Daenerys doesn’t blame her. Nor does she think she will have made the situation any better. Jorah’s uncertainty has left her quiet in her irritation.</p><p>Tomorrow is a new day. Her sharpness with them—<em>if you ever question me in front of strangers again you’ll be advising someone else</em>—has left them suitably chastened. And she will spread her dragon wings, prove to them all that she is not a silly little girl playing a game.</p><p>Soon they will all understand.</p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. 03x04, 'And Now His Watch is Ended'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: Listen</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’ve made camp miles from Astapor.</p><p>Jorah weaves his way through the chaos, making his way towards Daenerys’ pavilion at the front of the column. He’s been tasked with ensuring that things run smoothly, alongside Ser Barristan, and now they’re almost done, he’s using it as an opportunity to speak with Daenerys alone.</p><p>He has much to say.</p><p>When he reaches her pavilion, he finds Missandei there, but Daenerys absent.</p><p>“Where is the queen?” he asks her.</p><p>She’s a little skittish around men, but she seems to have softened to him just slightly. “She’s just at the crest of the hill.”</p><p>“You get some rest, if you’d like. I’ll make sure Her Grace makes it back safely.”</p><p>He leaves her there, turning in the direction of the hill. It’s only a gentle incline and soon he’s crested it.</p><p>There’s a breeze, rustling the errant strands of silver hair that have escaped from her braids. Above her, her three dragons circle like birds; she’s got her head tipped back to watch them.</p><p>He clears his throat to let her know of his presence.</p><p>“Khaleesi,” he says. “Everything’s ready.”</p><p>She tears her eyes away from the sky. Gods, she is breathtakingly beautiful with the setting sun bleeding into her cheeks. A true Targaryen queen.</p><p>“Very good,” she says, but lingers on him. “Is there something else?”</p><p>“Yes.” He takes a tentative step forward, coming to a rest at her side. She doesn’t stop him. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. Sorry for doubting you, for not listening to you. I never should have. I promise you, I will never question your judgement again.”</p><p>Daenerys grins up at him, a brilliant thing that lights up her entire face. “I’m very glad to hear that, ser. Because I didn’t want to have to find someone else to advise me. All things considered, you’ve done a very good job. And I wouldn’t be here without you.”</p><p>“That’s not true,” he protests.</p><p>She gives him a wry grin. “We both know it is. You don’t have to be coy, ser.”</p><p>“Still, I should have known better. How come you never told me you could speak Valyrian?”</p><p>“It’s never come up.” She smirks. “And it was fun to make such an emphatic point.”</p><p>“You’ve got a flair for the dramatics,” he teases, but sobers. “And a touch of genius.”</p><p>“Now you’re just flattering me.”</p><p>“Never,” he says softly.</p><p>She turns towards him.</p><p>Drogon chooses that moment to swoop back down to earth, landing with a thud in front of them. He cranes his neck and screeches, the sound echoing, spreading his wings. Showing off, Jorah thinks wryly. Daenerys reaches out her hand and strokes the scaly underside of his jaw. Seeing the attention he’s getting, Drogon’s brothers are quick to join him, each jostling for position. Daenerys jerks her head and Jorah reaches out a tentative hand of his own, joining her in petting a dragon.</p><p>And all is right in their world once more.</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. 03x05, 'Kissed by Fire'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: Haze.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jorah can’t sleep. It’s too hot, and the dust of the desert land gets into his lungs, making his throat dry. He reaches across for his skin of water to find that it’s empty.</p><p>Pushing sweat-soaked hair back, he grabs his shirt and throws it on.</p><p>The camp is silent now but for the snorting of horses; the shimmering of smoke from dying campfires and the occasional soldier on watch duty is all there is.</p><p>When he reaches their supply train he is surprised to find he isn’t the only one there.</p><p>Daenerys.</p><p>She seems almost a mirage through the mist of his tired eyes, the flash of her silver hair ethereal.</p><p>She turns to look at him. “Jorah. What are you doing here?”</p><p>He holds up his skin. “The same thing you are, I suspect.”</p><p>She smiles at that, moving aside to let him fill his own. “I can’t sleep.”</p><p>Jorah takes a swig of his water before answering. It’s lukewarm, but better than nothing. “I thought we’d find you curled up like a dragon in a hot spring cave.”</p><p>She giggles at that.</p><p>“Is there any reason why?”</p><p>“I suppose I’m still absorbing it all,” she says, casting her hand around her. “That this is reality now.”</p><p>“Well, it is. You should be proud of yourself.”</p><p>“I am.” She looks up at him, so unguarded in this moment, and he is struck again by how young she is, how she had spent her formative years in the shadow of that snake Viserys, taking his shit. <em>Believing </em>those vile words he spat at her.</p><p>How far she’s come in such a short space of time. How privileged he is to have seen her growth, to serve this woman.</p><p>In the morning he’ll blame that surge of affection on the haze of sleep, his heart fluttering on the unguarded smile meant for him alone. But the truth of the matter is that she disarms him so effortlessly, obliterating the wall he’d built around his heart and leaving him to pick through the rubble.</p><p>He wouldn’t have it any other way.</p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. 03x06, 'The Climb'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun blazes overhead. Daenerys lifts a hand to her forehead, dabbing at the sweat. It’s almost too hot for even her to bear.</p><p>Jorah and Ser Barristan suffer more. Both are almost as fair as she is; Jorah’s forearms are going from red to brown beneath the sun’s rays. The skin beneath Ser Barristan’s cheekbones is fiery.</p><p>But they are in high spirits. How could they not be? Everything is going so well.</p><p>She turns in her saddle to where Jorah rides just behind her, flanking one side as Ser Barristan flanks the other.</p><p>“I want to ride a little further ahead,” she says. Wants to leave the queen behind for just a moment, indulge in the adrenaline that courses through her veins.</p><p>Ser Barristan frowns. “Is that wise, Your Grace?”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I won’t go alone. Ser Jorah, will you accompany me?”</p><p>She doesn’t fail to notice the significant look that Jorah casts at the other knight. “Of course, Khaleesi.”</p><p>“I would be happy to—” Ser Barristan protests, but she cuts him off.</p><p>“Stay with the others,” she tells him. “I need you and Grey Worm to take charge. We won’t go far ahead. You’ll catch us up soon enough.”</p><p>Ser Barristan mislikes this idea, but he doesn’t argue with her. Satisfied, she digs her heels into her horse’s flanks and urges her to a canter. Jorah clicks his tongue and follows suit.</p><p>Dany grins to herself, pressing her horse on a little faster. The mare breaks out into a gallop. Pounding hooves indicate that Jorah has done the same and she laughs, giddy, as the dust swirls around them and the wind whips through her hair. Her heartrate increases, that adrenaline pumping faster, and Jorah is right there beside her, then outstripping her…</p><p>“Are you coming, Khaleesi?” he calls, a rare goad, and she rises to the challenge. There is nothing else, no crown, no mission, no dynasty on her shoulders, only the thrill of the competition, and she has never felt so alive.</p>
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